


Surge Protector

by orphan_account



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Alpha Michael, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Antichrist Michael, Anxiety Attacks, Character Death, F/M, Human Sacrifice, Investigations, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, Nipple Piercings, Omega Mallory, Physical Abuse, Scenting, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 00:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20573408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mallory's journey to self discovery starts with a phone call.





	Surge Protector

**Author's Note:**

> The plot and characters of American Horror Story: Apocalypse belong to Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk. This fic is based off of Patricia Briggs' short story Alpha and Omega and borrows a few of the plot lines and bits of dialogue. 
> 
> The word "squib" is obviously from Harry Potter. I ran out of imagination with that one. 
> 
> This exploded out of me and I'm sorry if I've missed any mistakes, it was a long proof read. 
> 
> Extra space between lines/paragraphs denotes POV switches.

Mallory can smell the basil and rosemary as soon as she opens the door to the greenhouse. Crouching behind a bench covered with tomato starts, she pulls out the cellphone Coco gave her the other night and dials the number the witch had whispered into her ear.

Her body shakes with adrenaline while she waits for the call to connect.

Three rings—and she remembers the time difference. Was Los Angeles two or three hours behind New Orleans?

_Shit_. Nobody wants a phone call at 2:00 am. Anxious about the imagined upset, she disconnects the call.

What was she going to say to him anyways? It was too bizarre to believe.

Closing her eyes, she tries to forget the faces of the missing girls she’d seen in the newspaper yesterday. Tries to forget the sound of screams echoing from the manor basement days before. _Those poor girls_.

Mallory doesn’t even know if the Grand Chancellor will object to what she assumes is ritual murder. Maybe Supremes have free reign in their territory? She'd hardly been given an orientation manual when the pale thugs took her away from her grandmother’s house.

Half way to the door of her hideaway, the phone in Mallory's hand starts to ring loudly. Not wanting to be discovered, she shoves a stiff finger into the lock screen and realizes a minute too late that she’s accepted the call. After a second, she raises the phone to her ear. The quiet buzz of the open line gives way to the rustling of a person on the other end. 

A throat clears. “Hello, this is John. You just called?” 

_Fuck_. 

“My name is Mallory,” she breathes, hardly louder than a whisper. God, she sounds pathetic. She wishes she were more self-assured. People believed you when you were confident. 

“You’re calling from Louisiana, Mallory?”

It frightens her for a moment that he might be scrying for her position, but common sense squashes that anxiety rabbit. He probably just has caller ID.

The man on the phone doesn’t seem angry for having been disturbed—and that’s not at all like any Alpha she’s ever met. Maybe it’s his job to answer the phones? It would make sense if he was a Beta assistant of some kind. It’s unlikely that Coco had access to the Grand Chancellor’s personal number.

Adjusting to the idea that she’s speaking to an underling, Mallory says firmly, “I called to speak with the Grand Chancellor. Maybe you can give him my message?” 

There’s a pause and then a wry chuckle. “I am the Grand Chancellor, witchling.” 

_Fuck with fuck sprinkles on top_. She’s insulted her best chance at help. Before her heart can gallop out of her chest, John croons, “it’s all right, Mallory. You haven’t done anything wrong. Go ahead and tell me your message.”

Mallory bites her lip and worries at it, conscious that this is her last chance to ignore what she’s seen and heard and just keep her head down.

Instead, she explains about the missing girls and what she'd seen in the manor's basement. She tells him that when she’d gone down to investigate there had been nothing but a rust coloured stain and the melted remains of black candles on the cement floor.

“I see,” murmurs the Alpha at the other end of the line. His tone doesn’t reveal anything about his belief in her story.

Mallory sucks in a breath. “I can't really prove anything. I just thought you should know.”

John hums. “Does Cordelia know that you were snooping around the basement?”

“Yes,” she croaks, swallowing around the dryness in her throat.

One of the younger girls had caught her out of bed and tattled. She’d been punished viscously afterwards.

Once Misty intervened, Cordelia had mostly quit passing Mallory around to the older girls as a punching bag. But not before Madison had used concilium to make Mallory bash her head repeatedly against the wall.

She winces as the sound of her cheekbone colliding with the drywall echoes in her head. Surely the Grand Chancellor doesn’t want to hear about that. 

“Sh-she wasn’t happy about it.” Understatement of the century.

“I understand.”

For some reason, Mallory has the strange feeling that he does.

John's voice is serious when he asks, “are you somewhere safe, Mallory?”

She suppresses a scoff. She can’t remember the last time she felt safe. “No. I’m still at the manor.” 

“Is there somewhere you can go? I want you to stay away from Cordelia and the Coven right now. They might not react favourably if they find out that you’ve called me.”

Mallory thinks about her meager circle of acquaintances and discounts the mailman and the next door neighbour. She’s rarely allowed to leave the house and when she does it’s usually to visit the public library.

Kind eyes and a generous smile flash behind her eyes as she says, “there might be someone I can stay with.”

“Excellent,” John tells her. “As it happens, other parties have contacted me about trouble in New Orleans. I’ve sent an Alpha to investigate. He’ll be arriving in the city tonight. If you’re able to, I’d like you to meet with him.”

The prospect of meeting another Alpha—likely an extremely dominant one if he’s to be judge, jury and executioner—sets Mallory’s teeth on edge. However, she can hardly refuse a request from the Grand Chancellor. Muttering a few words of assent, she hangs up the phone. 

Only later does she realize that she’s been given no description of this ‘investigator’ or his means of travel. How the fuck is she supposed to meet with him if she can’t find him?

\--

Dinah Stevens has been the archivist on duty every time Mallory has visited the library bordering the French Quarter and the Central Business District.

Other than a Beta, Mallory’s not exactly sure what the woman is. She’s definitely more than human. There’s something ancient buzzing underneath her matronly façade. Mallory’s felt it more than once. 

She’s taking a chance by heading to the library first thing in the morning (she doesn’t know Dinah’s work schedule), but the long bus ride downtown is far more appealing than trying to sneak out of the manor again tonight. 

It’s 6:45 am by the time bus drops her off in front of the library. Tucking herself behind a pillar on the front steps, Mallory settles in to wait the hour and fifteen minutes until opening. She presses her face into her knees and thinks warm thoughts. Her threadbare t-shirt and jeans are a poor barrier against the crisp morning air. 

Sometime later, Mallory's roused from a light doze by a hand jostling her shoulder. She startles awake with a gasp and meets the kind brown eyes that she’d been thinking of earlier.

Dinah doesn’t react as strongly to Mallory’s distress as an Alpha would, but she still does her best to help Mallory slow her breathing. “Come on, Mallory. In and out. One, two, three,” she coaxes. 

With her guidance, Mallory’s able to control her respirations enough to wheeze, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go.” 

The edges of Dinah’s lips curl up invitingly. “You’ve come to the right place, child. This library is neutral territory.” The _for magical beings _goes unsaid.

Dinah’s eyes flash emerald green. “I’m the guardian of this safe haven. All are welcome. Especially someone as special as you.”

Dinah’s words have Mallory searching her memory for every bit of information she’s absorbed on New Orleans history. Squinting at the other woman, she recalls a book about spiritual folkways rooted in West African Dahomeyan Vodun. Connection lights up her brain. 

“Loa,” she breathes, a realization and an accusation.

White teeth gleam at her from a wide smile. “Bingo, cher.”

“But I’m not special,” Mallory says, her brow wrinkling in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Dinah pulls her to a standing position and cups her cheeks in unnaturally soft hands. “You’re an Omega witch, Mallory. A powerful one too."

Further explanation waits until they’re inside. There’s still a half an hour until Dinah needs to open the doors. She herds Mallory into her office and onto an old couch. A mug of herbal tea is pressed into her hands.

The Loa sips from her own mug and asks, “what do you know about Omegas?” 

Mallory runs a hand through her long hair and keeps her eyes glued to the floor. “Um, not much? Just that I am one and that we’re the lowest members of the Coven. I hadn’t presented before—when I was living with my grandmother in Boston. We assumed I was a Beta.”

Dinah shifts her weight against the front of her desk and says, “never you mind Cordelia’s lies. I bet that when you walk into a room, people are drawn to you. That they feel centered. You should not be ranked lowest. They had to teach you to lower your eyes, didn’t they?” She gazes at the bruising on Mallory’s face and grimaces. “Beat the defiance out of you.”

Mallory can’t hold back her flinch.

Dinah makes a disgruntled noise and continues, “an Omega witch exists outside of the coven hierarchy. You don’t answer to anybody, cher. Not even the Supreme. You’re a gift. A magical conduit capable of channeling and focusing magic; a stabilizer of sorts.”

_Well_, Mallory thinks, _that’s not a life changing revelation or anything_. She shakes her head in disbelief. “Me? I’ve never manifested any powers. I’m a squib. I can’t even light a candle for Christ sakes!” 

Dinah’s good humour returns. Smirking, she says, “that’s because you’ve been going about it the wrong way. You can’t invoke magic that you don’t possess. But you _can _pull from others—call their magic to you.” 

At Mallory’s dazed look Dinah sighs, “I think that might be enough information for today. Why don’t you lie down and get some rest, cher?”

Stretching out on the paisley cushions, Mallory rubs at her temples. She feels a migraine coming on.

Before she can drift off, remembrance has her eyes shooting open. “Oh, Wait! Dinah, I forgot to tell you that I phoned the Grand Chancellor. He’s—”

“Sent someone to investigate the Coven’s activities. Yes, I know. Don’t you worry about that. I imagine he’ll turn up like a bad penny. He usually does.”

\--

Michael Langdon struts into Dinah’s library with the same arrogance that he’d possessed the last time she’d seen him over a century ago.

“Dinah!” he greets her enthusiastically, “you don’t look a day over three hundred, dove.” 

Dinah narrows her eyes at his handsome face. “We both know who’s going to lose the age contest, Hellboy.”

Michael’s smirk doesn’t waver. “Oh, come now. Let’s play nice.” His expression morphs into something serious. “I need your help. The Grand Chancellor has asked me to locate—”

Dinah cuts him off. “A witch from Cordelia’s Coven. I know.”

His annoyance at her foresight makes her smile. God, she loves doing that.

She tilts her head toward the back room and sees the exact moment that he registers the Omega’s presence.

Michael’s never felt anything like the electric charge that breaks out along his skin. And _the smell_. Cinnamon and whiskey-soaked peaches. An Omega, definitely.

He’s been around them before. Had bedded one a time or two, but he’s never reacted this strongly to an aura and a scent alone. No doubt his proprietor had had a pricking in his thumbs about this very occurrence before he’d sent Michael out here.

_The bastard. _John could have at least warned him.

He’s brought out of his musings when a small, hesitant voice from just to his right says, “Sir, have you come from Los Angeles?”

_Oh_. She’s lovely.

Sleepy tea coloured eyes and golden-brown hair. The Omega's snuck up on him. No creature has gotten the drop on him since that time with Bigfoot in the Catskills in 1908.

How charming. Right then he knew that whatever else he did in New Orleans, he was going to kill whoever was responsible for the bruises on her face. 

Mallory wakes to the sound of voices. The clock in Dinah’s office says it's 8:00pm. She’d slept hard for over twelve hours. Apparently, her body needed it.

She’s still fairly groggy when she makes her way out to the entrance. The library is deserted aside from the two figures regarding each other testily over the antique front desk. 

The Alpha is like no one she’s ever met before. He smells like clove and vanilla with a base note of something sharp. _Sulfur? _Power seems to crackle in the air around him. She wants to reach out and grab it. Keep some of it for herself.

His voice is a velvety purr when he answers her question. “Yes, I’m Michael Langdon,” he says. “The Grand Chancellor’s associate. You must be Mallory.”

She nods.

“Excellent. You can tell me everything you know about the spate of missing girls before we settle in for the night. I’ve arranged a meeting with Cordelia tomorrow.”

Fear spikes in Mallory’s chest. She doesn’t want to go back there. 

The stiffness of her posture has Michael trying to meet her eyes, but she keeps them glued to his shoulder. “Okay,” she murmurs woodenly. 

Dinah claps her hands loudly, causing them both to jump. “Alright. I’ve done my part. I’m heading home. You two are welcome stay. It’s probably safer if you do. Cordelia’s likely got the hag out looking for her missing Omega.”

Mallory shivers at the mention of Myrtle, Cordelia’s second. The woman took special delight in ridiculing her. She’d once held Mallory pinned to the ceiling in the parlor while she took her tea and ranted about the decline of Vogue. 

Shaking off the thought, Mallory asks, “where are we supposed to sleep?” It’s a valid question. The Alpha looks like he’s never slept rough in his life. 

“The couch pulls out,” Dinah answers smoothly. “I’m sure you two can figure something out.”

With that remark, the Loa moves to take her leave of them. Mallory stops her with a gentle hand at her elbow and says, “I want to thank you for your help, but I’m sorry. I don’t have a gift.” 

Dinah reaches out quick as lightening and plucks a hair from her head. “This’ll do, cher. You stay safe now.”

She’s gone then, locking the doors to the Library behind her.

Mallory listens to the lock slide home and turns to look at Michael. Before she can ask him what he wants to know, her empty stomach gurgles loudly.

Embarrassment has the Omega’s cheeks flushing a fetching shade of pink. Michael frowns. This won’t do, he’ll have to find her something to eat before he interrogates her.

He’d like to feed her up and soften the sharpness in her body anyway. He’s having a hard time controlling his instincts. The Alpha in him wants to bed her and claim her as his own. The hybrid side of him is a little more cautious—is happy to wait until he knows her a little better to make such a decision.

The Omega starts to apologize but he dismisses her concern. “No need to be embarrassed,” he tells her. “You look like you haven’t eaten all day. Wait just a moment, I know the perfect place.”

He transmutes himself to his favourite oyster shack in the French Quarter. When he returns fifteen minutes later with two fried oyster po’ boys and cups of gumbo, Mallory’s still standing where he left her, but she’s got a stunned look on her face. 

“What the hell was that!” she asks him. “There were these shadows and then you just disappeared. I’ve never seen transmutation like that before!”

Michael sets his bounty down on a reading table and gestures for her to join him. Sinking down onto a chair, he explains, “I’m not a warlock. My mother was a witch, but my father was something else entirely. The devil to be exact.”

To illustrate, he let his eyes flash black.

Mallory’s frightened of him then. Michael can tell from the acrid note in her scent.

Before he can stop it, a rumbling purr makes its way out of his chest. Mallory’s taut frame relaxes in response. The way she sways toward him and whimpers sweetly has Michael gripping the last vestiges of his control.

He’ll take her against one of these tables if she keeps making those sounds. That’ll teach her not to be afraid of him.

Sense returns before Michael can do something regrettable. The girl’s obviously fragile from her time with the Coven.

He encourages her to start eating and distracts himself with his own gumbo.

The abrupt swing from fear to arousal has Mallory’s appetite fleeing with her last brain cell. Regardless, she grabs one of the sandwiches in the middle of the table and takes a bite. The Omega inside of her wants to drop to all fours and show it’s appreciation to the Alpha who’s provided for her.

Mallory swallows her mouthful and takes a deep breath. Michael’s rich scent fills her lungs and makes her head dizzy. _Jesus_.

He’s aroused too.

She can taste his musk and her body’s responding to it. To stem the flow of slick wetting her underwear, she presses her thighs together under the table.

Michael’s ignoring the attraction, she can too. 

_Get a hold of yourself, Mal_. Clearing her throat, she asks, “so what did you want to know?” 

Michael’s nostrils flare as he scents her. He closes his eyes for a long moment, visibly steeling himself and says, “I need to know how Cordelia’s running the Coven. Who are the current members, who’s new, who’s left, etcetera.”

Mallory thinks for a moment, trying to find the beginning of her story.

“I joined the Coven when I was seventeen. That was four years ago. They took me from my grandmother’s house in Boston. Right out of the front yard. They told me that I was a witch and that I needed to join the Coven for my protection. I think that they did something to my grandmother; to make her forget. No one’s ever looked for me.”

Mallory glances at Michael and sees his eyelid twitch. She tries to decipher his expression and can’t. The face of Jesus must be in his fried oysters for the rapt attention he’s paying to them. Despite the stony set of his face, his body is still relaxed and his breathing is even.

Continuing the story, she says, “they had me do some tests. When I couldn’t ring a bell or light a candle with my mind, they deemed me defective. A squib Omega. Instead of a witch, I became Cordelia’s personal maid.” 

Eventually, Michael breaks his silence to ask Mallory some questions: 

“Who gave you the Grand Chancellor’s phone number?” (A beta student, Coco.)

“How many new members have joined the Coven since you? (Five.)

“How many members in the Coven?” (Twenty-three.)

“Who are the top-ranking members?” (Myrtle, Cordelia’s second; Madison, Cordelia’s third; and Misty, Cordelia’s mate.)

These aren’t the questions that she was expecting him to ask. Hadn’t he wanted to know about the missing girls?

Lastly, Michael has her write down the names of all of the Coven members and compares the list to one that he pulls from his blazer pocket.

When’s he’s finished with his analysis, he slides both pieces of paper toward her and says, “there are witches missing from your list. Several older witches. A Nan, a Zoe and a Queenie.”

Mallory shakes her head in bewilderment. “I’ve never heard of any of them. They must have left before I joined.”

Michael leans back in his chair and rubs at his eyes. It must be magic that keeps the eyeshadow at the inner corners from smudging.

“I’m not so good with dates anymore,” he sighs. “I haven’t met the missing members of the Coven. I think that the last time I met with Cordelia’s second was over ten years ago.”

Mallory scoffs. “Myrtle agreed to meet with a teenage boy?”

Michael’s blue eyes glint with amusement. “I’m much older than I look,” he says, enigmatically. “I’m holding up pretty well for six hundred and change.”

Mallory almost swallows her tongue. “What!?”

“Oh yes,” he tells her. “Cordelia’s up there too. Maybe one hundred and fifty? Myrtle only looks as old as she does because she chooses to.”

“Holy shit,” Mallory mutters to herself, and then louder, “am I going to stay young forever too?” This is insane. What else had they not told her?

Michael clears the remains of their dinner with a snap of his fingers and says matter-of-factly, “witches and warlocks usually reach physical maturity around age thirty. At that point you’ll stop outwardly aging. Lifespan varies, but most are long lived. Being an Omega, you’ll enter an extended heat around then. Your body will want to conceive while you’re at peak fertility. As with humans, the chance of conception among witches declines with age.”

Mallory counts to ten when she realizes that her breathing has sped up. It’s not working. She can’t stop the thoughts flying around her head. 

_Nine years_. She’s only got nine years before her eggs dry up and she’s doomed to a childless existence. Does she even want a mate? A baby? How is she supposed to support another person when she’s spent the last four years playing Cinderella instead of learning valuable life skills?

Michael’s frowning. His eyes flash that eerie black in response to her spike in adrenaline and pin her to her seat. The animal part of Mallory’s brain takes notice of his attention and tells her to flee. She’s outmatched by this predator. 

The Alpha leans forward and she’s on her feet. She’s running across the library and into the stacks before she can think about it. 

Mallory dives between two shelves and slides down the wall, making herself as small as possible. She feels rather sees Michael stalking her.

_Oh, God_. She can’t breathe. Her chest is too tight. She closes her eyes and throws her head back against the wall, gasping for air.

And then he’s there.

Warm breath washes over Mallory’s exposed throat. She cracks her eyelids open and sees Michael kneeling in front of her with his face held inches from her neck. Raising his arms, he traps her against the wall with a big hand on either side of her head. 

Mallory’s terrified to move. Alpha’s hurt those who are weaker than them. She’s learned that the hard way. Thinking about what this powerful Alpha could do to her has a sob slipping past her lips.

Michael growls lowly at her sound of distress. Pressing forward, he nuzzles his face tenderly into her neck. 

Long blond hair tickles Mallory’s jaw. She can’t quite stop herself from pushing her nose into the strands and huffing his comforting scent. After a moment of tense silence, that rumbling purr from earlier starts up again. Almost immediately, the band around her chest loosens enough for her to take a few deep breaths. She goes limp.

Encouraged by her submission, Michael snuffles his way up to her chin, nips it gently and takes her mouth in a smoldering kiss. Mallory has no choice but to open for him as he forces his way between her lips. The taste of him, dark and sweet, dances across her tongue. Her groan of arousal has Michael surging forward and pressing his lithe body against her front.

Mallory’s on fire. From the waist down her body is one tender ache. She wants this Alpha; craves him.

After a few minutes, Mallory breaks away from Michael to inhale a much needed breath. “What are you doing to me?” she gasps. Michael stops nibbling her along jaw and leans back on his heels. She notices that his eyes are blue again. He cocks his head like he’s just as confused as she is and says, “nothing. At least not on purpose.”

Ringed hands cup her face. The cool metal is soothing against her heated cheeks. “It’s you who’s possessed me, witch.” 

Mallory’s eyes widen at the vehemence in his tone. Mistaking her stunned expression for alarm, Michael drops his hands and starts to pull back. He doesn’t get far.

“Wait.” 

Mallory uses her grip on his lapels to keep him close. She pants in the space between them for a moment and asks, “on a scale of one to very dangerous, how bad are you expecting this meeting with the Coven to go tomorrow?”

Michael’s gaze is fixed on her spit slick lips. “Well, if Cordelia’s doing what I think she’s doing, and I’m pretty sure she is, then very dangerous.”

“Alright.” Mallory breathes. She jerks on his blazer, pulling him closer and licks her lips in invitation.

Their gazes lock and hold. Michael blinks and Mallory swoops in for the kill. The way his plush lips yield to hers has a dirty thrill shooting through her core. 

_Fuck_. This Omega is going to drive him wild. Michael feels his cock pulse in his slacks as her tongue gives a gentle lap against his own. 

Needing to grip her, to feel her under his hands, he sinks his fingers into her wavy hair. Soft as mink. He imagines pulling her head back by the strands while he ruts her against a bookshelf and has to stop drinking her moans to scoop her up off the floor. 

He slides an arm down to wrap around her waist while the other hitches her leg around his hip. In a fluid movement, he pulls her into his arms and surges to his feet. 

Mallory gets the memo quickly and loops her arms around his neck while her ankles lock behind his back. She goes wild with the change in position, flexing her thighs around his hips and grinding her core against his erection. The heady scent of her slick fills the air around them the more she works herself on his bulge.

Michael snarls and brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. “Look at your little nose wrinkle in frustration. You crave my knot don’t you, Omega.” 

Mallory’s eyes fly open, her head spinning with arousal. “Please, Alpha. Touch me, touch me, touch me, touch me…” 

Clinging to the last bit of his sanity, Michael says, “we should really talk about—”

The little witch does something then that leaves Michael’s head spinning. 

Black forks out from her pupils and swallows her eyes whole, leaving them the glossy onyx of his demonic eyes. The next thing Michael knows, they’re in an office. 

Finished transmuting them, Mallory’s eyes return to their usual brown.

Echoing her reaction to his own transmutation, Michael yells, “what the hell was that!”

Mallory busses her lips to his jaw and starts sucking a mark into his neck. She breaks off every few pulls to murmur, “don’t know, don’t care. Wanted to be in here. Couch, couch now.”

For the first time in his long life, Michael obeys a command. He walks them backward a few steps and sinks down onto the cushions that butt up against the back of his legs. 

Mallory adjusts to her new position astride his lap with fervour, dropping her head back and undulating on his cock.

Both motions thrust her chest out toward his face. Michael’s gaze dips and he nearly groans. _Those tits_. Small mounds rise and fall with her breaths, nipples straining against the fabric of her shirt. He wants to suck those nipples so hard that she’ll feel him the next day.

In the full grip of her Omega hormones, Mallory starts to chant, “Alpha please, please need you, _please_.”

Lust blazing anew, Michael grates, “I’ll have my fun undressing you another time.” A snap of his fingers removes their clothing the same way that he’d banished their trash.

Mallory moans wantonly at the contact between her moist folds and his pulsing shaft. Her body is hot and practically vibrating with need.

The sight of her breasts has Michael’s hands spasming on her hips. _Seven hells_. “Your nipples are pierced? Did you do this for a lover?” The thought has jealousy rearing its head in his chest.

Mallory mewls at the bruising pressure of his fingers on her delicate flesh. “No. Was never allowed a lover. Did it for myself.” 

His eyes are still rapt on the sliver barbells adorning her chest. “Whatever for? Surely it hurt?”

She shrugs. “This was pain I chose.”

Rage at her maltreatment has Michael surging forward to suck a nipple into his mouth, soothing an imaginary hurt. The metal piercing clicks against his teeth. Mallory squeaks at the sensation and arches into the contact.

Pulling back to blow air over the glistening bud, Michael says hoarsely, “wicked, little girl.”

Mallory tangles her hands into his hair again, taking the opportunity to smother his face with kisses and licks.

Michael smooths a hand down her belly and brushes her clit with his thumb. He feels the lips of her sex clench hungrily against him. She’s drenching his shaft. He’s absolutely soaked. “Does my wicked little girl need my cock? I’ve barely touched you and you’re dripping like a seasoned whore.”

“Please, Alpha!” she whines, rubbing her clit against his knuckles for more pressure.

Michael shivers at the entreaty, his sack tightening with need. He narrows his eyes on her face. “Have you ever had an Alpha knot inside of you, little one?"

Mallory snaps her hips, her cunt slipping from the base of his cock to the crown. Breathily she asks, “do knotting dildos count? That’s all I was allowed during my heats.”

Michael is sympathetic to her plight, but he can’t stop the rush of pleasure he feels at the thought of being her first lover. _Only lover_. This Omega is his. The severity of his reaction to her is proof of that.

He smiles at her sass and says, “no, minx. It doesn’t count. But I’ll do everything I can to keep you from hurting.”

Mallory’s done talking. She wants him inside of her now. If she’s going to die tomorrow, she wants at least one fuck with something other than silicone.

She looks down at the cock between her legs and feels her mouth water with anticipation. She wants to suck on the wide head and taste the pearly fluid beading at the tip.

Before Mallory can palm Michael’s length, his silky voice commands, “keep your hands on my shoulders, Omega.”

When she complies, he cups her cunt in his hand and grinds the heel of his palm against her clit. Mallory sucks in a breath. 

“More!” she cries, rocking her hips.

In response, Michael prods at her entrance and curls one long finger inside of her. Mallory’s nails bite into his shoulders as he starts pumping his hand. Michael slants his lips over hers and kisses her like he wants to posses her. _Brand her_. 

The next finger he slides into her carries the delicious bite of one of his rings. The metal scrapes against the sensitive flesh at her opening, sparking pain and adding to the tension building in her core.

The wet, sucking sound of his fingers plunging into her cunt is loud in the tiny office. Mallory takes a moment to feel guilty for ruining the upholstery on Dinah’s couch. She’s never been this wet.

Crying out as another finger makes its way inside of her, Mallory rubs her studded tits against Michael’s chest. The Alpha is throwing off heat like a furnace. She wants to burrow into that warmth and never leave.

Clamping down around his fingers she gasps, “please, please, please. So close, Alpha.”

Wild blue eyes focus on her face. Michael looks as frantic as she feels.

His hand slips out of her entrance and slaps lightly at the cheek of her ass. Sensing the direction of his thoughts, Mallory lifts herself up on shaky knees so he can position himself at her entrance. She’s not fertile right now, so there’s no hesitation when she drops herself down on his cock. Michael’s eyes roll back in his head. 

The painful stretch has tears pricking in Mallory’s eyes. However, she’s never felt more alive than she does with Michael’s hot flesh pulsing inside of her. 

When the sting settles into a dull ache, she twitches her hips in relief. Sensing her readiness, Michael tightens his grip on her hips and thrusts up hard into her core.

“Mine,” he growls. Mallory lets Michael set the rhythm with his hands, lifting and dropping her on his cock again and again and again. 

“You’re mine Mallory, my Omega,” Michael pants. He bares his teeth at her, eyes glittering possessively. “My needy little girl. Riding my cock like you were made for it.”

He leans in to nip at the juncture between her shoulder and neck. “When you ask for it, I’m going to mark you and fuck you full of my seed so there’ll be no doubt who you belong to.”

Mallory’s close, so close. His voice is like honey dripping over her skin, teasing her with sweet promises.

Michael fucks harder into her quivering walls. “Gonna knot up inside you. Keep you trapped on my cock. Mine, my witch. My Omega.” 

A handful of thrusts later, his length starts to grow inside of her, the base swelling up against her g-spot. Michael comes with a roar, the answering ripple of her cunt milking wave after wave of seed from his cock. 

Fire erupts inside of Mallory. White hot ecstasy. She moans out her orgasm, jerking helplessly on his knot. 

When she comes back to herself a little while later, she finds that Michael’s moved them into a more comfortable position. He’s swung himself around to lay on the couch with her still astride his hips. This way Mallory can slump against his chest and take some of the pressure off of her thighs. Sagging with relief, she nuzzles her face into his neck and whimpers her thanks. 

They’re quiet for a long moment, coming down in the peaceful haze still floating through their skulls. They have a while before Michael’s knot subsides; fifteen to twenty minutes if the books Mallory’s read on the subject were correct.

“Mallory…” Michael says quietly, bringing her out of her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

She stretches slightly and takes a shuddering breath at the shifting of his knot inside of her. “A little sore. _Good _sore,” she clarifies, a goofy smile breaking out over her face. 

She may have completely lost the plot by throwing herself at this Alpha, but she finds she doesn’t care. There’s something about him that feels right. Heaven sent.

The strange thought has her asking, “so are you like the antichrist?”

Michael’s chest vibrates with a deep chuckle. “Technically. I gave the apocalypse bag up years ago. Humanity grew on me.” He furrows his brows in a considering manner. “Like a tenacious mold.”

Humming, he continues, “the Council of Warlocks has allowed me to use my talents in other ways. I’m a hit man of sorts, contracted by whoever occupies the Grand Chancellor seat. It’s my job to investigate and terminate magical beings who get out of line.”

Mallory wonders if it gets old—the hunt and the kill. The proud look on Michael’s face has her biting her tongue.

When his knot decreases enough to slip out of her, Michael presses her into the cushions and takes his time licking up the blood and come that spills down her thighs. Mallory’s pretty sure she’s the one who’s purring now.

Eventually, they pull the mattress and blankets out of the couch and get ready for bed.

The last hour before sleep finds them is spent discussing the game plan for tomorrow. Michael seems confident that Cordelia can’t take him in a direct fight. He won’t tell Mallory his suspicions about what she’s doing. Says he wants to keep the element of surprise. Whatever that means.

They also talk about what happened earlier when she transported them into the office. Mallory does her best to relay what Dinah had said about her ability to channel magic. She finds hope in the curious expression on Michael’s face. 

“An extension of will,” he muses, “you wanted us to move, so you took what you needed to make it happen…” He mentions that some of the books in his private collection may offer more answers.

The invitation for Mallory to join him in Los Angeles hovers in room, weighty and unsaid.

Mallory drifts off to sleep clutching the ends of Michael’s hair in her fist. She prays to whatever deity is listening that she won’t lose this Alpha after she’s just found him. Besides the obvious attraction between them, he might be her best shot at learning about her gift.

\--

In the morning, Michael conjures clothing and a few essential toiletries for them both. He presses a sweet kiss to Mallory’s lips and leaves her to tidy up in the women’s washroom while he calls the Grand Chancellor from the front desk.

Mallory wishes that she had access to a shower, but a sink and baby wipes will do in a pinch. 

It feels right to leave Michael’s scent on her skin anyway. Like it’s some kind of camouflage. _Scent-o-flage_.

Snorting to herself, Mallory pulls on the cotton undergarments, skinny jeans and band t-shirt that were given to her. All of the items, including her black combat boots, are a perfect fit. _Huh. _Magical tailoring, perhaps?

Bending to lace up her boots, she wonders about the punk aesthetic. Michael had seemed pretty polished yesterday and he’d dressed himself in another suit this morning.

She asks him about it over their breakfast of shitty instant coffee and stale muffins scrounged from the break room. Michael smiles beguilingly at her question and tells her all about his time on the 70’s punk rock scene in London. The Sex Pistols t-shirt makes a lot more sense.

\--

Mallory keeps a white-knuckle grip on his hand when they appear outside of the gates to Miss Robichaux's academy.

Michael tilts his head, listens for a moment and announces in a sing song voice, “they know we’re heeeeere.”

His humour does nothing to ease Mallory’s fears. She knows what these bitches are capable of.

They make it through the front doors and to the formal parlour without being accosted. Inside the grand old room, Cordelia is sitting in a wingback chair with Myrtle and Madison at her sides. Misty stands behind Cordelia’s chair with a hand on her mate’s shoulder.

The effect of their united threat is somewhat mitigated by the outrageous fur hat perched on the top of Madison’s head. _Russia called, they want their frigid bitch back. _

No one speaks. The silence is Michael’s to break. Mallory sees him take a deep breath and hold it. He drops her hand so he can fan his fingers at his sides, reaching out with his senses to get a read of the room.

Michael opens his third eye is immediately drawn to the darkness festering in Cordelia’s soul. Or rather, the empty space where one should be.

He exhales._You’ve been a very naughty girl, Cordelia._

Meeting her steely gaze, he says, “the Grand Chancellor has sent me here to ask you why you sold your children into bondage.”

Clearly this isn’t’ the question that Cordelia was expecting. A number of micro-expressions flit across her face. Regaining her balance, she raises an imperious brow and snaps, “I have no children.” 

“All of the witches who walk through these doors are your children, Supreme. They’re your responsibility.” Michael shakes his head in disappointment. “You sold three of your own—Nan, Zoe, and Queenie—to Papa Legba. Why?”

Each name lands like a blow against Misty’s flesh. She recoils from her mate and shouts, “she was fading, Michael! It’s too soon. We don’t even know who the new Supreme is! When her powers started lashing out, we had to do something.” 

Michael curls his lip up in a snarl. “So you sold your soul and three of your witches in exchange for time…But it wasn’t enough. Was it? Legba wanted more. More innocents, little girls, sacrificed for your selfishness.”

Cordelia clenches her hands on the arms of her chair. “It’s _my_ fucking job to be in control of this Coven. I did what was necessary to protect it.” 

Michael laughs mirthlessly. “You did no such thing. You wanted to keep your place on top. And when your powers still rebelled, you kidnapped a special girl and made her your surge protector.”

Anger has his power flexing the air around him. “You beat her and degraded her until she believed she was nothing but a worthless Omega. So she’d never leave you.” 

Cordelia’s brown eyes slide in Mallory’s direction. “What sort of nonsense has he been filling your head with, Mallory?” She flares her nostrils, scenting her and smirks. “Or is it your traitorous cunt that he’s been filling? You know, we burn witches who turn their back on their Coven.”

Lifting her gaze from the floor, Mallory meets the Alpha’s eyes head on and says sharply, “it’s a good thing I’m a squib then.”

Madison doesn’t give any warning before she attacks, but Michael’s ready for her. He avoids her first blast of telekinesis with a neat dodge and throws his own hand out, sending her sailing across the room. She smacks into the wall and drops to the floor like a discarded rag-doll.

While Michael’s back is turned, Myrtle sends a knife flying in his direction. He’s not quick enough this time. The business end plunges between his shoulder blades with a sickening thud.

Crying out, Michael grips the weapon and pulls it, in halting inches, out of his back. Blood darkens two thirds of the blade. Body already regenerating, he sends the knife back to Myrtle with a flick of his wrist.

Spinning end over end, it finds its target in the middle of Myrtle’s forehead. Defeated, the hag falls lifeless to the floor, her glamour fading with her magic. Her youthful corpse is unrecognizable.

Mallory sees Cordelia rise to her feet as all of the glass in the room shatters with a loud boom. Cordelia calls the shards to her and raises her hands to launch them at Michael.

Heart in her throat, Mallory steps between her Supreme and her lover.

Cordelia looks her squarely in the eyes and says, “move out of the way, Mallory.”

Mallory feels the force of the Alpha command roll by her like a breeze ruffling her hair. She’s done being this woman’s doormat. Widening her stance, she draws Michael’s essence to her.

Skin crackling with what must be hellfire, Mallory glares back at Cordelia. “No.”

The wall of fire that she sends at Cordelia has the other witch and her shards of glass turning to dust. The flames dissipate as quickly as they appeared. 

Staring at the pile of ash she’s made of Cordelia’s body, Mallory starts to shake. Michael’s there then, wrapping her in his arms. His calm assurances touch her psyche in ways Cordelia’s commands could not. She presses herself against the line of his body and hears Misty let out a mournful howl.

Sobbing, the witch crawls across the floor and does her best to scoop up the sooty remains of her mate.

Coco glides into the parlour then, whispering over her shoulder for the other girls to go back to their rooms.

The Beta heads straight for Misty and drops down to cradle the witch in her arms. The chandelier over their heads flickers as a surge of power spikes. The smell of ozone floats through the room. 

Michael pulls his face out of Mallory’s hair and meets Coco’s eyes. His expression is soft when he says, “I owe you a favour for giving Mallory the Grand Chancellor’s number…Supreme.”

Coco’s lips pull into a subdued smile. “Thank you for your assistance, Mammon. The Coven will not forget your commitment to truth and justice.”

Michael nods at her once with gravity and turns toward Mallory. Blue eyes beseech her tiredly. “I know it’s sudden—”

Mallory cuts him off with the saucy assuredness of an Omega who’s found her match. “So I think I’ll be heading out to California. New Orleans has never been my home.”

She looks up at him from underneath her lashes and smirks. “Besides, some old geezer promised to show me his books.”

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless self promotion: If any of y'all are into Gigi x Duncan (Gigi is Billie's character from Booksmart) that's something I've delved into recently. Check out my dashboard for the links.


End file.
